


the gods came out to play

by shotfired



Series: where mortals roam [1]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Criminals, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Blood, Blood and Injury, Crime Scenes, Crimes & Criminals, F/M, First Meetings, Gen, Gun Violence, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Minor Character Death, Near Future, On the Run, Organized Crime, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Please Don't Kill Me, Revenge, Spies & Secret Agents, Thriller
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-09-02 13:26:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8669461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shotfired/pseuds/shotfired
Summary: where mortals roam, gods came out to play. to live, to rule, to ruin the day. in one second, the life of first-class thief james t. kirk is changed forever. he goes from flying under the radar to being hailed as the murderer of thousands, the criminal underworld god of the century. now sentenced to death and on the run, kirk has no choice but to work alongside the only man who just might be on his side; the one man who wants him dead more than any other. friends turn on friends, killers save lives and heroes take them; it's a fight to survive, with no chance of winning.





	1. intro

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Where Mortals Roam](https://archiveofourown.org/works/940972) by [bristow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bristow/pseuds/bristow). 



> this is a creative remix of [this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/940972) abandoned work. **work in progress and will be slowly updated.** don't like = don't hate, appreciate. :)

**CIA Interview File 01478**  


"Mr Kirk, do you know why you're here?"

"No. I don't know what any of us are doing here! You should be out there, bringing in those sons of bi-“

"Mr Kirk."

"He's out there, dammit! I know that, you know that, we all damn well know that!"

"I don't know that."

"That's right, because I’m the bad guy here."

"Are you confessing to me, James?"

"What? Hell no!"

"Then what are you trying to say?"

"What are you trying to say?!"

"This has nothing to do with me, Mr. Kirk."

"No, no. You see, this is all about you. What you think I did, who you think I am, what I may or may not be capable of."

"Calm down Mr. Kirk."

"Stop 'Mr. Kirking' me, dammit!"

"Just calm-"

"And I am calm, don't tell me to be calm, you be calm!"

"Get in here! Sir, just-"

"If you say 'calm' one more time, you son of a-"  


**CIA Interview File 01479**  
"Ok, James let's start again shall we."

"You're a big one, aren't you?"

"And you have one hell of a right hook, Kirk."

"Is it broken?"

"He'll live."

"Damn."

"Cut the crap, Kirk-"

"No, you cut the crap! This is crap, this is all-"

"Crap?"

"See, now you’re getting it. Smart man. See you really can't judge book by its mug shot."

"You're just making it harder for yourself Kirk; you've got to know that. The more you delay the inevitable-"

"No, you listen! The more you all delay the further and further away he and the rest of his…his Scooby Gang, whatever they are gets!"

"Who gets, Kirk?"

"Who- aren’t you people supposed to be the smart ones here? I don't blame the other guy, he had mental problems-"

"Kirk!"

"Nero, the Emperor of Crime, The Man who Fell to Earth, I don’t really care what you call him! Whatever you decide on, he’s the man behind it all, behind all of this shit, and you all know that.”

"As far as I’m concerned the man we’re all looking for is sitting right in front of me and don't think you can use your little parlour tricks on me, buddy. I know your kind, all big and tough and so much better than us huh? So much smarter and savvier, huh? Well buddy, daddy isn't here now so you'd better just shut the hell up and-"  


**CIA Interview File 01480**  
"This really isn't going to work, is it Mr. Kirk?"

"You really should have thought of that two thugs ago."

"True. You're one tough cookie, James."

"Is it broken?"

"Which one?"

"Either."

"You think you’re clever, don’t you Mr Kirk? In my experience guys like you have a chip on their shoulders for a reason. What's your reason James?"

"Let's just say that I'm not a people person."

"Oh I don't believe that James and neither do you."

"And what do you know?"

"Only what you've told me. That you didn't kill all those people after taking them for all they’re worth."

"So you’re telling me that you believe me?"

"You're telling me you don't?"

"You tell me."

"I'll tell you what James; I have a whole squad room of cops out there who are just screaming at me for your blood, one way or another. I have a lot of pressure riding on me, Mr. Kirk."

"I feel for you."

"They all seem to believe that you did it."

"And why is that? Just because I was handy at the time? Or maybe cause they’re all so desperate for a break, after all how many months have you guys been on this thing now? Ten? Twelve? Or maybe it’s my story that they don't believe?"

"Which one?"

"You tell me?"

"All right. You claim that this is all some kind of frame job right? That Nero, for whatever reason, chose you, a lowly thief as you put it, to be the escape goat for his dirty work. You claim that you were at the wrong place at the wrong time, that you were, and I’m quoting here, ‘hired’ for a simple job and that’s when you found the bodies, all six of them, that also just happen to be covered with your DNA. And also, by coincidence of course, have been cleaned of everything they own, money that you now have in an off-shore account I’m sure you’ve never heard of. You must admit that it's pretty farfetched at best."

"Let me tell you something this time."

"Shoot."

"Believe, if I could I would."

"Noted, please go on."

"You believe my story, every word. You believe that I was telling the truth about finding those bodies like….like that. And you believe I'm innocent. You believe that Nero, whoever the hell he really is, is behind this all and this war that you’ve been fighting all these months? Well, this is only the beginning."

"And why exactly do you think that I believe you?"

"Because I'm still in here and not out there with the animals."

"Careful Mr. Kirk. I'm one of those 'animals'."

"Are you really? Then prove it."

"You know what? I think I've just found your reason."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Maybe so. But let me tell you this: it's a big and scary world out there. There's a whole lot more going on here than you realize."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I’ll let you figure that one out, Mr. Kirk. You're the tough guy round here after all."

"Where are you going?"

"To let the animals in.”


	2. incursion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [**#throwbacktime**](http://mccoysm.tumblr.com/post/57196640371/star-trek-xi-au-spy-au-based-on-where-mortals).

Leonard McCoy had seen many things over the past fifteen years as an undercover agent. But he still couldn’t wrap his head around night clubs. The room was an electrifying mix of blue and white strobe lights, people crushing each other on both sides, some drinking liquids of various colours and potencies, some dancing and others just… there. And the music? Or rather the butchering of ‘Silent Night’ which somebody, somewhere thought sounded better with…chainsaws? McCoy groaned and muttered under his breath, looking around him, taking in everything that he saw and tuning out what he didn’t need to. Drunk guys on left, stupid and wearing Santa hats but not dangerous; girls drinking some florescent pink thing that looked more than half radioactive to the right, about to pass out but again, not dangerous, unless they fell on someone; tourists getting shanghaied in one corner, dancers in another and snappy dressers with hidden mikes and guns off to the side. Now that was what he wanted to see. No one else milled around that corner, just the two guys in sunglasses with stoic faces, bald heads glittering in the lights and… Rudolf noses? 

“Oh that just makes it all worth it.” McCoy said to himself, fighting back a grin. Armed baldies with guns big enough to put a hole in you were one thing. But ones wearing Rudolf noses? That McCoy could deal with. The two stood emotionless (something McCoy thought would have been tricky considering the noses), seemingly standing in front of an empty patch of wall. McCoy looked around him again to make sure nobody was paying him any mind. Then once he was certain nobody was looking, he adjusted his mike and made his way through the crowded club, dodging hands and elbows and the occasional foot-

“Ow! Gees lady. What are those things made of, razor blades?” He winced as the woman’s heel dug through his $500 dollar shoes and right into his $2 socks, “Do you mind? I was planning on using that again.” She turned her head slowly down at his shoe and withdrew her heel.

“Sorry, oh gosh! I’m so sorry!” She slurred as she tipped slightly, turning around fully. McCoy sighed. Great, just what he needed. A florescent pink sipping headache.

“Don’t mention it.” He growled, glancing over at the two Rudolfs who were peering around the crowd in their direction. Now how the hell did they hear her over all the chainsaws? “Really, it’s fine. Forget about it.”

“No, no, I won’t forget about it! It’s nearly Christmas and I stood on your foot. I think I drank too much.” She giggled and tipped a little towards him. He rolled his eyes. 

“You don’t say?”

“Oh, does it show?” He glanced at the woman’s face to see that she was perfectly serious. On anyone else, it’ll be called sarcasm. On her it was drunkisim, plain and simple.

“Not at all.”

“I’m Candy, by the way.” She said holding out her hand. McCoy peered over her blonde hair at the two men who were still looking curiously in their direction. 

“Cindy, happy to meet you.” He said, absently taking her hand.

“Yeah. No! Candy.” She said giggling again, “Ooops.” Candy fell suddenly forward into McCoy’s arms. He took a step back to steady himself as he heaved her up slightly. He sighed as she went almost completely limp in his arms. Her face was scrunched up against his shirt and he could swear she was drooling.

“Fantastic.” He mumbled, looking around him, “Bloody fantastic!” He dragged her to her feet, taking her by the arms and swinging her around, grabbing her under her arms to stop her from falling. Swinging her arm over his shoulder, McCoy readjusted Candy’s weight as her head slumped against his shoulder. A slow smile spread over her face as he slowly manoeuvred his way through the crowd.

“You smell nice.” She murmured. McCoy raised his eyebrows as he half dragged her over to the side wall where several small tables and chairs sat, several discarded Santa hats lain about. He pulled one of the table and sighed, popping it haphazardly onto Candy’s head.

“Yeah, thanks. You do too sweetheart.”

“Really?” She asked looking up at him as she started sliding off the chair, “I do?”

“Like a gingerbread house Candy, just like a gingerbread house.”

“Oh, you’re cute.” She patted him on the cheek as he tried to prop her back up in the chair.

“You’re too much.” He pushed her gently against the wall, in a corner so she was surrounded on both sides. She smiled as her head tilted from side to side.

“I think I love you.” She said happily and patted his cheek. McCoy rolled his eyes again as even his best efforts at ‘propping her up’ failed miserably. In a blink of an eye she was on the ground with a thump. A sudden noise from the side of the small black partition that blocked the table from the two men made McCoy duck behind it, his back pressed against the wall. One glance at his face and it was game over. The two men came rushing around, making a beeline for Candy. McCoy pushed himself even flatter against the wall as they looked around, probably for him. He began slowly inching his way through the impossibly small space between the wall and partition, holding his breath as he squeezed himself through the last gap and into freedom. He breathed in deep as he looked around. So far so good. The good and apparently dumb guardians of the wall were nowhere to be seen. He turned back around to the wall scanning it up and down before a small, white panel caught his attention. Reaching to his left, he swiped his hand over it, breathing a sigh of relief when it opened, revealing a darkened corridor leading to a two way fork at the end. He ducked inside and swiped the corresponding panel on the inside, stepping to the side as the door closed without a sound. He glanced down the corridor straining to hear even the faintest sound and more than half expecting an alarm to sound any minute. Though the local gangs weren’t really known for their expert security, surely someone would hear or see him before he made it to his target. With the muted sounds of what once used to be ‘Jingle Bells’ at his back, he inched along the wall, wishing that he’d brought his gun along with him. But the gang’s security was bad, not horrendous. Besides, this wasn’t really a gun job. At least it wasn’t supposed to be. In and out, gone in a flash before they knew any better, that was McCoy’s plan. And he also has a bridge to sell you. 

McCoy reached the end of the hall, slowly peering around the corner, just enough to look both ways and quickly withdrawing back as two men in lab coats came into view. 

“Crap.” He muttered, glancing down the right-side corridor. It was empty and darker than the other one, with only two doors, one on the left and one at the end and in plain view of the approaching men. He sighed again, weighing his options over in his mind. Get in somehow, get the information and get out in one piece, all without getting shot, captured or stepped on again. Piece of cake. McCoy took a deep breath and backed up slowly, glancing behind him to make sure the coast was clear and then facing straight ahead. He cocked his head to the side and took a deep breath. “Now or never.” 

He strode towards the end of the hall again, glancing to his left to see the two guys stopped in front of one of the doors down the hall. He turned his face away, casually scratching his neck in hopes the corridor was too dark and they’d sampled too much of their own products to know the difference between him and one of the guards. He turned right and headed towards the end, making it to freedom in record time. He glanced behind him, just in time to see two white lab coats enter a door and disappear. He turned back around to the door, looking it up and down. Standard door, if not an older model. Simple black metal, one handle, no padlock; just a biometric keypad. He glanced behind him again as he withdrew his gloves, snapping them on. He placed his finger on the pad, holding his breath as it seemed to take hours till it finally turned green, signalling that he’d picked the right guy to relieve of one fingerprint. He quickly ducked inside, closing and locking the door behind him. He took off his glove and headed over to the computer console and his target. Now for the in and out part. He pressed the power button on the touch screen, wincing slightly as the bright light of the monitor came to life and filled the black room with a bluish white glow. He entered the code required, quickly gaining entrance into the mainframe and where he needed to be. Everything was going according to plan. So far… 

“Crap.” Bones whispered as his mike began buzzing in his ear. He pressed the small earpiece, quickly getting back to work. “What?” He barked.

“McCoy? It’s Barnes.” 

“Not a good time, Barnes.” 

“What are you busy or something?” McCoy couldn’t help rolling his eyes again, biting down the probably inappropriate response that came naturally to him.

“Oh not at all, don’t you worry about that.”

“Good. Because I’ve got something I think you’ll want to see.”

“What, right now?”

“It won’t take a minute. Hang on.” The room turned a deep blue as a video from the NYCPD popped up on the screen in front of him. 

“Whoa!” He said, holding his hands away, “How the hell did you do that?”

“I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.” 

“Cute, real cute Barnes.”

“Just shut up and watch it.” Barnes said, as the small video began playing in the corner. McCoy continued typing, watching out of the corner of his eye as an interview tape played from the NYCPD’s infamous ‘quiet’ room, a place where cops took the prisoners in whole and they came out…not so whole. The video had no sound, but McCoy didn’t need it. He knew exactly who he was looking at, he’d only been tracking the guy for three months. He was good, really good; a step better good than McCoy had ever come across before. And by the look of the faces on the screen, he was giving them all hell, something that McCoy had expected, but enjoyed seeing none the less. He couldn’t help but chuckle as the guy broke hit one of the cops square in the nose, red blood squirting out as the tape and the cops flashed out of view.

“When’d you find him?”

“Three hours ago, you were undercover by then, no way of reaching you. We got a tip, anonymous naturally, that he’d be in the warehouse district. Turns out he wasn’t alone either.”

“Really? One of his minions?” McCoy asked distractedly, mind still focused on the screen.

“Not exactly. Turns out he killed some targets,” Barnes continued, and McCoy paused mid-type, glancing at the static video in the corner. “Six of them.

“You’re kidding me?” He said softly, swearing under his breath, “That’s not his MO Barnes.”

“I know that, but there’s a first time for everything I guess.” An uneasy feeling filled McCoy. Something wasn’t right. This James T Kirk – or Nero as he went by these days – was as cunning as any criminal that McCoy had ever gone after, maybe even more so, but never once had they tied a murder to him. It just didn’t feel right; it was too violent and too hands on. Nero’s empire was getting bigger every second, with more fingers in every pie this side of Canada than on any one man’s hand; he didn’t need to get his own hands dirty, so why was he starting now?

“Hold him,” He said, returning his full attention back to the screen and the download bar counting upwards, “I’m almost done here and then he’s mine-“ Suddenly he noticed a light spilling in from under the bottom crack of the door, several black shadows flickering about. Damn, why hadn’t he noticed that before? The chainsaws must have dulled his mind. “I’ll have to get back to you.”

“Trouble?”

“What else?” McCoy switched off his mike as the video shut down, leaving only the status bar left. 65% and climbing. He glanced at the door again, the shadows gathered beneath, slowly blocking out the light, but no sound filtered through. It was almost like they were waiting. Waiting for what? For him to come out and surrender? Yeah, not gonna happen. He glanced back at the screen and groaned softly. 68%, 69%. 

“Come on, come on.” He muttered as the bar finally ticked over to 70% then 72%. He glanced at the door again. “Come on!” 85%, 87%. More shadows lined the door and he heard a faint click. 90%, 92%, 95%. “Come on.” The screen started flashing blue, signalling the ending of his download and he snatched the USB drive out of the side of the computer, shutting off the screen. He glanced about him as the shadows began moving again. His eyes settled on a small door to the right of the desk and glancing back at the door he made a dash for it, opening it and managing to duck inside just as light spilled in from the hallway. He leaned against it, squeezing his eyes shut as several voices filled the room.

“See, I told you.” McCoy heard one of the guards say and he could hear the footsteps still moving. He looked around the darkened room, making out a sink and toilet but nothing else. If they decided to check in here, which he knew he would do if their places were reversed, they’d find him in a second and it’d be all over. He stepped away from the door and further into the shadows as a pair of footsteps came towards the door. This is not how he wanted things to end, death in a toilet.

“I’m telling you, I heard-“

“Mike!” A voice from further away called, from outside in the hallway McCoy assumed, “Some woman’s punched a guy in the face. There’s blood everywhere man, they’re calling the cops!” McCoy heard a muttered swear and watched as the shadows under the door walked away. He took a ginger step forwards, placing his ear on the door and holding his breath. He heard shuffling noises and then silence as the room fell back into complete darkness. He released the breath he didn’t realized he’s been holding, slowly opening the door to reveal a darkened office with no guards in sight. He stepped out and closed the door behind him, carefully left the office exactly the way he found it and made his way through the chaotic crowd and out the door before the cops could arrive. He had what he needed and now it was time to finish what he’d started months ago.  


************************************

  
Kirk squinted as yet another drop of blood ran into his eye, sending his vision into a hazy and sickening shade of something resembling red. He slowly raised his cuffed hands to wipe the blood away before anymore made its way into his already blurry eyes. He restrained the urge to wince at the stabbing pain in his probably dislocated shoulder, lest the agents watching him through the one-way mirror should feel any more sense of pride in their job, excellent and thorough that it was. He wiped away a trail of blood before it reached his eyes only succeeding in somehow making it worse, as another trail started running from the cut over his right eye. He let his arms drop, the metal of the cuffs resounding on the cold, steal table in front of him. He’d heard a lot about the CIA and their interrogation rooms, none of which came close to what he was sitting in right now. The guard at the door started smiling, his face still looking away from Kirk and towards the opposite wall. Why they felt the need to keep a guard inside the locked cell when Kirk was cuffed to a steal table, he had no idea. Whatever made them feel safe. He squinted up at the guard.

“What’s so funny cupcake?” He asked and the guard turned slowly to face Kirk, still smiling.

“Your face for one.”

“Ouch man, that really hurts. It’s not all that bad in here regardless,” Kirk said, smiling, “I get to look at your beautiful smile don’t I?” The guard’s smile stayed in place as he shook his head and returned to staring at the opposite wall. He lifted a hand to his ear, turning away slightly before glancing at Kirk, his smile deepening. He nodded once and turned, unlocking the door and stepping aside. A man in a standard black suit stepped inside, an iPad in hand and a smile in place. There was something different about this guy. It wasn’t a cocky smile, it was an accomplished one. He exuded confidence and power and his clean-shaven faced was vaguely familiar. Kirk stared at him as he sat opposite him, placing his iPad down and leaning back in his chair, crossing his arms. He stared at Kirk, still smiling. Kirk stared right back, not smiling. 

“How’s the cut?” The man finally asked, a slight southern lilt to his words. Kirk narrowed his eyes slightly. Still the man smiled. What was with this guy?

“Not as bad as it looks.”

“Really? Because from where I’m sitting it looks pretty terrible.”

“Did anyone ever tell you that you have a crappy bedside manner?” The man still smiled, uncrossing his arms and leaning them against the table top. “Who the hell are you?” Kirk asked, narrowing his eyes even further. “And is that red glitter?” Instead of answering, the man tapped the screen of the iPad, pushing it forward towards Kirk, indicating with his head before leaning back into his chair. And casually flicking away the glitter from his neck.

“Take it.” He said, crossing his arms again. Jim glanced at the man’s stoic face, reaching forward to slowly pull the iPad closer to him. The screen showed a static surveillance video of the warehouse where they’d picked him up. There was no sound, but Kirk could still make out what was taking place, though he couldn’t believe his eyes. Instead of showing what happened – Kirk arriving some two minutes before the cops rolled in – it showed him gunning down each of the people, one at a time. His face wasn’t visible, but the man- whoever the hell he was- was the exact same height, weight and had the same damn hair. He could have been looking at the backside of his twin. He swallowed, pushing the pad back towards the man, shaking his head.

“That’s not me.” He said, still shaking his head, “It’s not.” The man’s smiled dimmed slightly, like he’d expected Kirk to suddenly break down and cry ‘I did it, throw away the key!” Well, no such luck.

“Why deny it Kirk,” The man said, leaning forwards again, “We all know this is y-“

“Shit, you people are shit!” Kirk interrupted, closing his eyes and starting again, fixing his eyes on the man’s face, “You people are supposed to be the Intelligence Agency, start using some of that intelligence! I’ve been framed!” He exaggerated ‘framed’, raising his cuffed hands as far as they’d allow, “I have been framed. That’s so obviously a fake man, come on!” The man just kept on staring, his eyes boring holes into Kirk’s. Kirk leaned forwards, the metal clinking against the table, “I know you, I’ve seen you.” He narrowed his eyes, “You’ve been following me, haven’t you?” The man’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t budge. “Oh what, you got a sick stalker crush on me or something?”

“I’ve been following you.” He finally said, a small smile forming, “But don’t flatter yourself kid.” Kirk moved his hands slightly, palms facing upwards.

“Then if you’ve been doing that, tell me something. How many people have you seen me kill?” The man blinked, not breaking eye contact with Kirk, “How many?”

“None.” He said and Kirk nodded.

“And how many times have you seen me carry a gun?”

“Twice.” He said, not missing a beat. Kirk stuttered, rubbing his eyes.

“Okay fine, bad example.” He let his arms fall back down, shaking his head.

“I’m not a killer.” He said. The man kept on staring at him, like he was trying to work it all out in his head. Kirk was right, there was definitely something different about this guy.

"But you are a criminal."

"Well yeah, but isn't everybody?" The man didn't say anything, just kept on staring. Kirk could almost feel the hole the guy was burning through him. "I'm not a killer." He repeated, slowly, like there almost wasn't much point.

“Maybe.” He said, pulling the iPad back towards him, “And maybe you’re just that good.” Kirk squeezed his eyes shut, his head falling to the side.

“Maybe.” He repeated, moving his head side to side so his shoulder didn’t cramp in pain. 

“I’ll be transferring you out of here tonight,” The man finally said, standing up from the chair. He readjusted his tie and started towards the door, standing to the side as the guard opened it. Kirk looked up, watching as he turned back around to face him before he left and Kirk could almost see the man’s mind working, a flicker of something across his face…was it doubt? Or maybe it was just hope on Kirk’s part as the man in the suit, turned back around and walked out.


	3. snow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last update till '17 so MERRY CHRISTMAS!! :)

_Shiloh House, London, 2056 AD_. 

"Are you sure about this?"

"Look you've asked me that ten times already!"

"Well, are you?"

"For the eleventh time, yes I'm sure. Now shut up, I'm thinking."

"Could you think a little harder, it's cold out here."

"You’re cold? I thought you were from Russia?"

"Cute. Are you in yet?"

"Almost there. Hang on." Pavel looked around him at the snow covered ground surrounding the house. Laughter and strained jazz music drifted through the door as he blew on his hands, rubbing them back and forth to keep at least some feeling in them. He leaned slightly backwards, checking that nobody was coming down the street, but everything was empty, the only things approaching were the shadows of the night falling.

"How about now?" He asked, an empty silence coming thru his mike the only response. "Sulu?”

"Do you see an open door?" Pavel sighed and walked towards the end of the building, peering out and looking side to side. The fog was thick in the air and flecks of whitish grey snow wafted down from the black sky, picking up gradually momentum and making the jolly Christmas lights spread out over the street somehow creepy. He squinted as he looked left, rubbing his hands together and wishing that he'd worn gloves. He glanced right as he turned to head back to the door when an approaching figure caught his eye.

"Crap." He whispered turning and sprinting back to the door.

"What is it?" Sulu asked thru the comm.

"I've got company."

"Shit, where'd he come from?"

"I don't know, you’re supposed to be my eyes Sulu, I’m just the candy. Just open the door already!"

"Hang on, almost got it." Pavel looked towards the end of the building, hearing footsteps even amidst the noise of the gathering snow storm. "Got it!" Pavel reached for the door handle and swung it open, shutting it quickly behind him. He leaned against the door, glancing out of the small window next to it as a pair of Shiloh’s personal security guys came into focus, pausing at the edge of the building and looking down where only moments before Pavel had been, before disappearing back into the night. "Pavel, are you ok?" Pavel let out a breath and closed his eyes.

"Yeah," he said, "No thanks to you."

"Hey, that door didn't open by itself did it?"

"Fine, a little thanks a little to you. But make it quicker next time ok? Or even better, you be the one freezing his butt off."

"I thought you were the candy? Get going Pavel, clocks ticking. You have five minutes to get in and out. I'll meet you at the extraction point."

"Copy. Its time for Santa to do his stuff!" Pavel reached up to his ear, pressing the tiny button that silenced his mike before his partner’s sigh could come through, as he headed into the house. The noises became louder as he got closer to the party, turning from a darkened corridor and opening the door, entering into a brightly lit hallway. He stepped out and closed the door behind him, adjusting his collar on his tux. People passed him by without even a glance and he smiled and walked past them till he reached a stairway. Turning his back to it, he glanced around, glancing at his watch and shaking his head as a couple passed him by. Once they'd passed, he gave one more glance before ducking under the scarlet rope that cordoned off the staircase, taking the steps two at a time. He reached the top, turning automatically to the left, going over the plan that he and Sulu had gone over time and time again in his mind. He reached the end of the hall, glancing at his watch. Four minutes twenty-three seconds remaining. He glanced up, just in time to collide with a maid as she came around the corner.

"Oh, I'm so sorry sir!" She said dropping her pile of towels onto the floor, "I didn't see you there."

"That's alright." Pavel said, laughing softly, "I never watch where I'm going."

"You really shouldn't be up here sir."

"I know, I’m sorry. I like that.” He said with a smile, indicating to the large Christmas wreath pin on the maid’s shirt, "I'm looking for my daughter, small thing," he held up his hand around his waist, "So high, black hair. Crystal's her name, about five. She must have slipped away when her mother wasn't looking. Must have come up here, she can't resist going places she shouldn't. Have you seen her around?"

"No, I haven’t," the maid said shaking her head, a worried look on her face, “But I've been in the master's bedroom making up the bed. She could have gone into one of the other rooms I dare say."

"That she could have, that she could." Pavel said nodding vigorously and hoping his expression was a mix of embarrassment and nerves, "I don't suppose you could help me look for her? It's getting late and it's a strange house…"

"Oh, yes of course sir!" The maid said, "I have a little one myself, so I understand completely. I'll look down there." She said and pointed over Pavel’s shoulder.

"And I'll look down here." Pavel pointed in the direction that the maid had just come from, "In case she ducked into one of those rooms, like you said."

"Right." The maid said with a determined expression on her face and walking past Pavel, "Oh and sir, don't be bothering to look in the room at the end. That's Miss Poppy's room and it’s always locked, so there's no way she could have gotten in there." Pavel turned and looked down the hall, pointing to the end and glancing at the maid with a questioning look.

"At the end?" The maid nodded and Pavel nodded back, walking slowly backwards, "Right and thank you so much." The maid smiled, blushed a little and hurried down the other hall, Pavel watching her until she'd disappeared into a room. He quickly turned around and headed straight to the end room. Retrieving a small padd from his pocket, he held it up to the keypad next to the door, pressing a button and waiting impatiently as the padd's screen flashed blue and red and finally green. The door clicked open, and Pavel quickly went in, closing it quietly behind him. The room was pitch black, save for a tiny sliver of light coming thru the window from the streetlight outside and the clear white glow of the lights on a tiny Christmas tree next to the bed. He pressed a button on his padd and held it slightly up, watching as it went to work, detecting any electronics in the room and indicating where the hidden access panel to the Shiloh vault might be. Finally it homed in on a small painting of the Eiffel Tower Monument on the wall closest to the window. Pavel smiled and pocketed the padd, reaching up and feeling around the painting. His fingers hit a small latch and he carefully pressed it. The picture swung open, revealing a small vault built into the wall.

"Bingo." He withdrew another device from his pocket, a small cylinder and held it up to the vault. After a few agonizing seconds, the vault’s seven circles lit up in a dark shade of pink, signalling the vaults successful opening. Pavel shrugged, and opened the vault. He carefully retrieved a small envelope and opened the seal, emptying the contents onto his hand. A clear disc fell out, no writing of any kind, only a small diagram of three intertwined triangles in the centre. The seal of Shiloh House. Pavel put the disc into his pocket and put the envelope back inside, his hands pausing on the vault door as a noise sounded just outside the bedroom door. Loud voices drifted through, laughing as they neared the door. Pavel groaned and quickly closed the vault. He rushed to the door, his hand pausing over the doorknob. The voices became louder as an electronic sound indicated the door was being opened from the outside. He turned back around and ran into the middle of the room, looking desperately around to find a place to hide. The door began to open and he dashed towards the adjoining room, rushing in and closing the door, leaving it open just a crack. Two women came in, staggering slightly as they laughed, the sounds of ‘White Christmas’ drifting in with them.

"Did you hear that?" The first women asked, looking around the room, "I thought I heard something."

"I didn't hear anything." The second one said, "Must have been that drink you had."

"Which one? I lost count around ten." They both laughed and Pavel sighed, closing the door more as they headed further into the room. He looked around him, noticing a window that he could use if absolutely necessary. Suddenly a meow sounded and Pavel started, looking down where a small black cat sat in the middle of the room, staring up at him with curious eyes.

"Was that Mittens?" The first women asked. Pavel put his finger to his lips, shaking his head vigorously at the cat. It meowed again, looking up at him with curiosity. He groaned as it become louder and footsteps came towards the room. No wonder he’d always been a dog person. "I think she's in there." He let go of the door and rushed towards the window, twisting the handle to try and open it. It jiggled and moved slightly, a loud creak sounding in the room. "I think someone's in there!"

"Shit!" Pavel said, pulling the window all the way up and climbing out onto the ledge, the bitter cold of the night hitting him full on.

"Hey!" The two women burst into the room and Pavel leaped into the darkness, landing hard into the snow below. He quickly pushed himself up, stumbling down the alleyway leading to freedom. The two women leaned out of the window, pointing and yelling after him. Pavel picked up speed, limping slightly as a sharp pain shot up his left side from his ankle. He winced, grabbing his leg as he tried to run faster. He reached the end of the alleyway and turned a corner, stopping short as two men saw him and yelled out. Two armed and probably angry men.

"Shit! Shit!" He turned the other way, picking up speed despite the pain in his leg. Suddenly the noises of the night were joined by the sickening sound of shot ringing out. Pavel staggered and fell forwards unto the ground, crying out in pain. He grabbed his thigh, lifting up his hand to see it covered in red. He swore, pushing himself up from the snow as hurried footsteps sounded behind him. He grabbed a light post and pulled himself around the corner, staggering as he went. The pain was becoming unbearable but there was no way he was getting caught, not when they had so much to lose. He staggered on, shouted voices carrying behind him. Touching the wall of the building, Pavel spied his escape: a doorway leading to the abandoned warehouse he was currently using for support. He headed straight for it, praying that it would be open. He reached the door, using his non-blood covered hand to try the knob. It jiggled and creaked but didn’t move and Pavel could hear his two attackers approaching. He gave the door a shove with his shoulder, the door splintering open. He rushed in and closed the door behind him in the nick of time, as the two men rushed past. Pavel could hear their muffled shouts as they passed and he leaned heavily against the door, feeling the energy drain out of him. He touched his leg gingerly, wincing from the pain. He groaned, touching his ear.

“Sulu.” He said, his voice sounding strained even to him. “Come in.” Nothing but static filled his ear and Pavel gripped his leg, moving himself further into the warehouse. “Dammit Sulu!” He struggled forwards, leaving with a groan against a crate. He shrugged out of his jacket, winching at the pain and started ripping the sleeve off. He’d feel the cold for sure now. Dropping what was left of his coat on the ground, the readjusted his weight and used the sleeve as a bandage, biting his lip as he slowly wrapped the dark material around his thigh, pulling it as tight as he dared. He tied it off with a knot at the back and leaned heavily against the crate, closing his eyes. He took several deep breaths and pushed himself up, resting his hands on the crate as he tried his weight on his leg. He took a ginger step forward and looked around, his eyes resting on another door leading out of the warehouse. He pulled himself forward towards it and opened it with a tug, the cold hitting him hard. He blinked then stepped out, pulling it closed behind him and headed into the night. Or at least as far as a tuxedo bandage would take him.


	4. doubt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a bit of mckirk spy goodness for you all! :) [x](http://dicapriho.tumblr.com/post/59492380562/the-person-that-youd-take-a-bullet-for-is)

_CIA Headquarters, NYC._

McCoy sat in his darkened office, watching absently as the little bird tilted and fell head first into the glass of water, only to straight himself up and start it all over again. The only light came from the tiny plastic Christmas tree someone had snuck in while McCoy was out, the red and gold lights only managing to make it look more pathetic than it already was if that was even possible. His interview with Kirk played and replayed in his mind, every word the cocky kid had said and every time McCoy had a doubt as to whether Kirk could save his own skin, let alone be a master criminal. This should have been a straight cut case. Kirk was as guilty as sin, McCoy had been sure of that. _Had been_. But now, after the interview with 'Nero', meeting the man the Agency had declared was the criminal mastermind that had planned more violent crimes than the Mafia …McCoy wasn’t so sure. He watched as the little bird dipped once again, its beak barely touching the water before it started the tireless routine all over again. A knock sounded on the door and McCoy answered without looking up. An agent, brand new to the Agency and determined to prove himself, appeared in the doorway, blinking rapidly to adjust to the darkness.

“Ah sir?” McCoy looked up at the man – Watson was it? – and beckoned with his hand absently.

“Don’t just stand there," McCoy said perhaps a little harshly and he forced his voice back to neutral, "Come in.” Watson hurried forward, stopping in front of McCoy’s desk.

“I was told they’ve brought Grant in.” Watson said and McCoy nodded, returning his attention back to the bird.

“Ever seen one of these?” He asked. 

“Ah…no sir. Should I have?” McCoy smiled a little and shook his head, standing up from his desk.

“I suppose not. Which room is he in?” Watson lead McCoy to interview room three and McCoy went in, closing the door behind him. The room was identical to the one he’d interviewed Kirk in an hour before, the same stark darkness and cold air. He sat down at the desk, looking the Agency’s one and only informant in Nero’s crew up and down.

“I don't care what you do to me, I'm not saying anything.” The man said, shifting nervously in his chair and his eyes glassy with fear. McCoy nodded, leaning back in his chair.

“And that's fine, very admirable Grant. May I call you Grant?”

“No, no. I-I'd rather you not.”

“And why's that?”

“Well A. they’re gonna kill me later, and I hope it's later rather than- you know, sooner? So there's really no need to be on a first name basis, yeah? B. my name's not really Grant, I just changed it for privacy reasons. And C. they’re gonna kill me so...”

“Right. So, Grant, just to let you know,” McCoy said, leaning forwards and resting his arms on the cold surface of the table, watching the nervous man’s face carefully, “We’ve brought him in.”

“Who?” Grant asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Nero. We’ve got him.” A series of emotions passed over Grant’s face: shock, disbelief and finally suspicion.

“What are you playing at?” Grant finally asked, narrowing his eyes further.

“I don't play anything except dominos. I'm just stating a fact, Grant.”

“No you’re not.” He said, chuckling nervously. This time McCoy narrowed his eyes. Grant wasn't looking scared anymore, in fact the man seemed relieved. Which could only mean things that in no way would set McCoy's mind to rest. 

“What do you mean, I’m not?” McCoy replied slowly. He was already dreading the man's answer, “What are you talking about, Grant? We brought Nero in a few hours ago, its over.”

“And I’m saying you didn’t. Because he’s _Nero_.” Grant said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. He leaned forward, lowering his voice, “He’s the freaking best!”

“Maybe he’s not as good as everyone thinks,” McCoy answered, his mind flashing to Kirk's face. He leaned back in his chair and feigned calmness, when all he felt like doing was punching a hole in something. And fast. “Because we got him.” Grant leaned back in his chair, shaking his head.

“What kind of an idiot do you think I am, McCoy?”

“I don’t know Grant.” McCoy answered with a sigh, “What kind are you?” 

“What do you want of me man?!” Grant demanded in a loud voice, his cuffs clattering on the table. McCoy leaned further back in his chair, sighing. What did he want of Grant? They had Nero after all, Grant was useless now, save for the possibility of catching some of Nero's higher up minions. But they were the little fish. With Nero in custody, his criminal empire would quickly fold in half. That is, if they even _had_ Nero at all. He hated to admit it to himself, but this Kirk was getting to him. He’d watched the footage over and over, the footage of the murders, of his various interviews and finally the interview he himself conducted. He’d never hear the end of it but some small part of him maybe believed-he got up from the desk, walking around to Grant’s side, leaning down till he was face to face with Grant.

“You say he’s still out there.” He said quietly. Grant leaned away from McCoy, nodding cautiously. “Then I want proof.”

“Why would I help-“

“Fine,” McCoy said, straightening up, “It’s your funeral.” Grant swallowed and shook his head nervously.

“I'm listening.”  
******  


London.

He was late. _Again _. Sulu looked at his watch, sighing for what seemed like the hundredth time. Ten minutes and counting. That Russian idiot was ten minutes late! He frowned, picking up a small stone from the snow covered ground at his feet, throwing it into the river before him and watching as it hit the surface with a splash. It sent little ripples this way and that from its entry point, falling deep and out of his sight into the murky waters below. Much like them if Pavel didn't deliver. He glanced up, his eyes jumping from person to person, in one flowing movement. The darkness was well and truly falling but that didn’t stop the people of London. A mother stood with her young son, pointing and laughing at a duck in front of them. A man in a business suit sat reading a newspaper on a bench identical to Sulu’s a few feet away from him. And more than a dozen other eyes watching him from the shadows, just waiting for him to make the first move. He knew, they both knew what the risk was, pulling this job in London. But when they weren’t safe anywhere in the world, why the Hell not London? At least they’d get to see a snowy Christmas before they bit the dust._  
_

From where Sulu sat, Pavel only had five minutes to get from Shiloh to here, a few minutes extra just in case he'd been followed. Then all Pavel had to do was pass by Sulu's line of sight so that they knew the coast was clear, and then double back. But he was late. Of all the jobs they'd ever done, of course this one was the one he'd be late on. And now Sulu was beyond worried. He leaned forward on the bench, clasping his hands in front of him, his eyes fixed to the ground. He strained to block out all the common noises around him, imagining all the scenes he'd just pictured in his mind, placing every noise and every sound and every movement. He rubbed his knuckles with his fingers idly, listening as the one noise he needed to hear came closer and closer, out of sight but never out of mind. It came towards him, soft and silent, almost like a warning. Yes, that was the one. Sulu allowed himself a little smile as he closed his eyes. Yeah, this would be fun. The noise stopped and he found his breathing stopped along with it, waiting for something, anything, to happen. And they were insane if they thought that he was going to make the first move. Sulu’s heartbeat slowed as his instincts kicked in, and with one lightening quick movement, he was standing, gun raised in the face of the young mother. She stood before him, her face impassive as she matched his gun with a small one of her own. He glanced around him at the park. The business man continued to read and the boy continued staring at the duck. Sulu smiled; this would be like a walk in the park.  


“Well, this is a surprise.” He said. The woman cocked her head to the side, a slight smile forming.  


“It shouldn't be.”  


“It was a joke, lady. You know; sarcasm and all that.”  


“Oh,” She said, nodding slightly, “Right. Sarcasm. Got it.” Sulu smiled, and the business man calmly flicked his paper over to the sports page.  


“I don't have it you know.”  


“We know. He's late isn't he?” The woman tut-tutted, her gun remaining aimed at his heart, “You really should have trained him better.”  


“I know. I'm ashamed, really I am. Deeply. And as soon as I see him next, I'll make sure to let him know just how disappointed I am. I may even slap him a little.” This time the woman smiled, cold and emotionless but a smile none the less. This woman really needed to learn how to relax.  


“You could have just done it yourself, you know. Breaking and entering would be a piece of cake for the infamous Hikaru Sulu.”  


“I know. But why would I bother, when I can just...delegate?”  


“You should be more careful with who you chose as a partner, Sulu. Don’t you know what he’s done?” Sulu winced slightly, never once letting his gun waver in front of him. As much as he wished it would accidentally go off, he knew just how little that would benefit him. “But of course you do, after all you helped him do most of it now didn’t you?” He shrugged slightly, seemingly unaffected. But inside his blood was beginning to run as cold as the London air. _Pavel was late_.

“If you must know, he saved my life. It's probably something to do with these little things called loyalty and respect; things you wouldn't understand, I'm sure. I bet you don't get a lot of that from your cronies do you?” He smiled, relishing the brief display of emotion on her face as this time the woman winced, her gun quivering slightly. She placed her other hand over the gun to steady it, all emotion wiped away from her face like bugs on a windshield. “It's tough sometimes, isn't? Needs two hands.” Sulu moved his gun slightly, holding up his other free hand and shrugging. The woman narrowed her eyes. “So what, we just going to wait here then?”

“We don’t want the disc.” The woman said slowly. Sulu narrowed his eyes at her, his gun shifting slightly.

“I know it’s not my company you came all the way here for, as charming as it may be.”

“We have another…job for you.” She said, slowing lowering her gun. Her mouth twitched after she said the words, like they were painful to spit out. “ _He_ has another job for you.” Sulu kept his gun where it was before slowly lowering it, watching the woman warily.  


“I told you the last time we met,” He said and the woman cocked her head to the side in expectation. "I don't work for him.  


“And?” Sulu rolled his eyes. Couldn't this messenger just get the message already?

“And the answer is _no_! I don't work for anybody, except for myself. I told you people that, three times.”  


“And who are you working for now,” She asked, “You’ve got to be selling the disc to someone.”

“Now that’s between my partner and myself, yes?” 

“All that aside, I don't work for him anymore. My new employer...well let's just say, he's and up and coming player.” She said, watching Sulu carefully. “I'm sure you've heard the rumors, haven't you?" Sulu said nothing, just waited uneasily, "And I'm sure you know what it'll mean for your careers if you side with him over Nero. Especially now. Or what it would mean if you say no.”

“No.” Sulu said simply, shrugging. “If this _player_ wants something done, I'm sure he can manage to do it himself. Or send one of you lovely people to do it for him. And anyway, I'm not joining any freaking rebellion. Going up against Nero anymore than I already am is suicide.”

“Didn’t you hear,” She said, smiling again only this time with genuine amusement. It was almost like she’d just told a joke that only she knew the punch line to, “They’ve got Nero.” Sulu blinked, starting slightly. The woman nodded once, taking a step towards him and lowering her voice. “That’s the job.”

“What are you talking about?”

“So you’re interested now?” She laughed softly and Sulu resisted the urge to shiver. “Glad to hear it.” She turned and started to walk away, “You and your partner will hear from us. Then we’ll see if you really can do what my new employer thinks you can: kill Nero.”


	5. duet

Kirk sat on the cold bench, the hard surface freezing even through the borrowed suit he wore. He tugged at the collar, trying in vain to loosen it. As it was, it felt like a premature noose around his neck. And it was getting tighter by the second.

“Relax,” McCoy said, appearing next to him. He was still smiling, damn him. “You look like you’re heading to your own funeral.”

“You’re enjoying all this aren’t you?” McCoy shrugged and held out blue two tablets and a cup of water.

“Just a little bit, yeah. Here, take these.” Kirk eyed them warily, glancing from them to McCoy and back.

“Are you trying to drug me?”

“Of course I am." McCoy said, shaking his head as if disappointed. "They're pain meds kid, just shut up and take them." He shoved the cup and tablets towards Kirk impatiently. “Just take them.” Kirk still stared at McCoy, taking them slowly from his outstretched hand silently. McCoy sat on the bench next to him, a little too close for Kirk’s comfort.

“You want to sit on my lap?” McCoy glanced at him, saying nothing, before resuming his silent scanning of the room.

“Take them willingly or I’ll force them down your throat via a tube. Either way works for me, kid.” Kirk smiled and shook his head, swallowing his tablets with one gulp of water. He swallowed and glanced to his left, his eyes landing on a small boy, staring up at him with innocent curiosity.

"Are you a drug addict?"  


"What's it to you?"  


"My dad says anyone who takes those," he pointed a finger at Kirk, shaking his head seriously, "Is a drug addict." McCoy chuckled next to him and Kirk gave the boy a forced smile.  


"Did your dad also tell you not to talk to strangers?"  


"They're not good for you, those things."  


"Kid, do I look like I care?"  


"Do you ever smile?"  


"Would you get out of here!" The boy started, running away and McCoy stood up, grabbing Kirk by his elbow and heaving him up with him.  
"Curious little so and so, isn't he?" McCoy said, once again enjoying himself. Kirk sighed, letting McCoy guide him towards a waiting car, black of course, and the twin agents waiting by the back door. They stood aside, opening the door. McCoy shoved Kirk forward, pushing him inside before taking a seat next to him. The door shut firmly behind him, sending the back area almost pitch black, save for two bright blue lights on the ceiling. A black screen separated the front seats from the back and Kirk could hear the two front doors opening and closing as the engine started.

“You people have too much money on your hands.”

“For you,” McCoy said sarcastically, “Only the best.”

“What's your problem, anyway?” Kirk said, twisting around in his seat to face McCoy. McCoy glanced at Kirk, his face impassive.

“You got enough time?”

“Oh I think,” Kirk answered, gesturing around him, “I’ve got plenty of time.“ McCoy just smiled and shook his head, turning to face the black screen. “You’re the strong and silent type, aren’t you?” Kirk asked, once again tugging on his collar.

“What were you doing at the Warehouse?” McCoy asked. Kirk looked at him, surprised at the unexpected question. It was a trap, it had to be a trap. This McCoy was trying to get something out of him that he thought he had hidden somewhere. But all Kirk could see in the dark back seat was McCoy’s genuinely curious face.

“You believe me?” Kirk asked incredulously. McCoy snickered.

“Don’t get all hung up on me kid; it's just a question.”

“I-“ Kirk’s words were cut off as a shot sounded in the night, shattering the driver’s window. The sick sound of the bullet meeting flesh came from the front followed by a dark splattering on the black glass. 

“Get down!” McCoy shouted and flung an arm over Kirk, pushing them both down as the car swung wildly, hitting the curb and flipping over. It crashed upside down; the sound of metal grating against the road filling Kirk’s ringing ears until it slammed against something hard and solid. Kirk could hear his heart beating in his ears, his eyes blurred and everything ached. What once was an overwhelming noise was now unnaturally silent and he closed his eyes, trying to control his breathing. _In and out. In and out._ And that’s when he felt the blood. He started as once again a sick red stream trickled down his head and into his eyes. He tried to move, but McCoy lay unconscious on top of him, arm still outstretched protectively, ever the agent.

He tried shaking the man, nudging him with his arm but he still didn’t budge, his lifeless form nearly crushing the breath out of Kirk. He turned as far as he could against the door and pushed his shoulder against it, hoping that whatever they crashed into wasn’t blocking the only exit. Finally the door creaked open, scraping against the ground as it did. It stopped halfway, but that was enough and Kirk fell out of the wreck, rolling until he was on his back, facing the deceptively close stars. He took in gulp after gulp of cold night air, his lungs and head screaming. He turned to face the car, where McCoy’s lifeless body hung half way out. He took a deep breath and looked back at the sky. He squeezed his eyes closed and braced himself for whatever pain would come next before pulling himself up. Nothing hurt too badly and Kirk almost laughed in relief. He touched his head and came away with a little blood, but nothing too severe and he felt no wound or pain anywhere on his head. That could only mean one thing. He took a few unsteady steps towards the car and knelt down. Sure enough, a wide gash on the side of McCoy’s head still oozed blood. Kirk put out a hand as if to touch the man, to feel for a pulse or something but he let it fall, looking around him. 

A biting breeze had picked up and despite himself Kirk shivered. His suit felt like it was chocking him and he shakily yanked the tie off and loosened the shirt, throwing the ripped tie onto the road. He took a step back and his eyes darted everywhere, half expecting another shot to come ringing through the night air. He should run, he should get away while he still could. And then he remembered McCoy's face, McCoy's questions, the disbelief that his mind had painted into McCoy's mind. He took a deep breath and held it, shaking his head. He had no choice; he had to get out of there. He had to get them _both_ out of there, for him and for McCoy. As much as he hated to admit it, the agent was his best bet of getting out of this mess, one way or another.

So with many a muttered and creative swear word, Kirk grabbed McCoy’s arms and pulled the man out, releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding when McCoy groaned, his head shifting side to side as in a daze. He dropped his arms and stepped back, looking around again. Nothing stirred, no sign of life, no follow up shot sounding out, nothing. Why weren’t they still shooting? They must be able to see that Kirk and McCoy were still alive, why weren’t they amending that unfortunate situation? Kirk looked back at the wreck where the two guards lay dead, the one with the hole in his head and the other, whose clearly dead body spilled out of the shattered front window.

“What the hell just happened?” McCoy muttered in a slurred voice. It sounded as bad as he looked. Kirk dropped back down, hearing the pain in every syllable out of the agent’s mouth.

“We’ve got to go now,” He said, blood pumping, “The shooter is still here somewhere man, come on!”

“Call me man one more time and I’ll shoot you.” McCoy groaned and put a hand to his head. A hand that Kirk noticed was shaking. He grabbed McCoy’s arm and helped him up, steadying him when he staggered slightly.

“Come on.” He said, wondering just how deep the gash was when McCoy said nothing and let Kirk lead him away from the car and hopefully far from their shooter.

******

 **Somewhere in London.**  
Pavel dragged himself forward another step, rubbing his arms to ward off the cold. It was biting through his clothes and into his skin, like a thousand little knives cutting through to his very bone. He’d lost the guards a good block back, but by taking the longer route, Pavel had added ten extra minutes to the time it would have taken to reach Sulu, who would be more than a little concerned by now. Pavel staggered slightly, wincing as he spied a small bench, partly hidden underneath a ledge and shrouded in shadows. _Just one minute_ , he told himself, _and then I’ll keep going_. He’d tried the mike to reach Sulu till his voice was horse, but the cheap shit wasn’t working yet again. He practically fell onto the bench, releasing a pent up breath. Pavel let his eyes close, his head falling back against the wall behind him. He knew he should keep himself awake, knew he shouldn’t fall asleep, knew these few minutes he was motionless could mean the death of him. His leg was no longer bleeding and the pain had either gone away or he’s become so used to it that he didn’t feel it anymore. That or he’d lost all feeling to his legs from the cold. Definitely the last time he was the candy. Eyes still closed, a deep silence filled the air as the sounds of London drained away. The stillness was broken by what sounded a lot like Christmas bells ringing in his mind, far away yet getting closer. They sounded nice and Pavel smiled just a little. One bell, then another one. One bell…Why were there two different sounding bells? And why was everything so cold still? Wasn't it supposed to get warmer when one died? 

"Pavel." A tiny voice whispered in his ear, but the promise sleep was so nice. Sleep, solid, uninterrupted sleep. "Pavel." Sleep. It had seemed like an eternity since he'd slept, really slept. Unafraid, completely relaxed and calm. _"Pavel!"_ He started as the cold feeling around his head shifted; his body feeling like it was being lifted from the ground. And everything became warmer. Ah, so this is what dying felt like. At least it was warmer now. _"Pavel!"_ His eyes flew open and he coughed, lurching forward. 

"What the Hell!" He exclaimed, squeezing his eyes shut and grabbing his leg in pain from the sudden movement. "You just slapped me!"  


"Yeah, well," Sulu replied, holding onto Pavel's arm like he was afraid he might suddenly fall to the ground, "You were sitting there with a stupid smile on your face; how was I to know you weren’t dead?" Pavel forced his eyes to stay open, slowly raising his hand, to see it covered in blood.  


"Please don't tell me that's mine?" Pavel asked, dropping his arm and taking deep breaths.  


"Okay," Sulu replied slowly, "Then I won't. Come on." He grabbed Pavel by the arm, heaving him up gently yet firmly, "We've got to get you out of here Pavel." Pavel groaned, letting Sulu steady him on his two suspiciously jelly like legs. He staggered, touching his wound with his hand again. "Here," Sulu said, leaning Pavel against him as he struggled out of his jacket. He stumbled slightly, throwing the jacket up over Pavel’s shoulders haphazardly. Pavel grunted, readjusting his weight as Sulu slung Pavel's arm around his neck and grabbed his waist, pulling him forwards. He looked down around him as they went, the two bodies of the men who he thought he’d lost a block back lying face down on the snow covered ground, small patches of dark red under each. Funny, he didn't remember hearing any shots. Only bells; clear, calm, Christmas bells.  


"Where’d they come from?” Sulu barely gave them a passing glance and absently shrugged a shoulder.

“Certainly not where they are now.”  


“Did you shoot them or did they die of embarrassment?" Pavel said pressing the jacket harder into his wound as Sulu practically dragged him down the street and into an alleyway opposite. Sulu laughed, readjusting his hold on Pavel as he began to slip.  


"Yeah, like you could have done any better."  


"Of course I could have, if they hadn’t snuck up on me. Probably."  


"Sure, Pavel. Sure." Sulu paused at the end of the alley, turning his head back as he heard the sound of voices behind them. He turned back around. "We're not making it to the van. Not unless you can start jogging anytime soon."  


"Sorry to disappoint." Pavel replied. He looked around, feeling his body start to sag, the warmth of earlier gradually being replaced by a bone chilling cold. He looked ahead across the snow covered side road and indicated with his head. "What about that?" He asked, transferring his weight to his good leg. Sulu looked where Pavel was indicating, to an abandoned service station which sat covered in snow and disuse, the old pumps almost completely covered by ice. The doors were all boarded up, but even from where they stood, gaps in one of the side doors were obvious, slits of night black beckoning inside. Sulu shrugged awkwardly under Pavel’s weight.  


"It’s no Grand Hotel, but it’ll do." He pulled Pavel with him across the road, each step painfully slower than the last one. Finally they reached the building, Sulu pausing outside the small door off to the side from the main entrance, his breaths coming out in visible white puffs in the cold air. He leaned Pavel against the wall and taking a step back, he kicked the door, sending it flying open, little slivers of old wood flying up and out from the sudden impact. Pavel turned his face away, blinking at Sulu.  


"You couldn't have tried the knob first?" Sulu looked at him and rolled his eyes.  


"Do I look like a knob kind of guy to you?" He grabbed Pavel and dragged him inside, kicking what was left of the door shut behind him. He squinted, trying to bring the darkened room into focus. The door had led them into the warehouse part of the station, a bunch of old crates and a rusting car hulk the only things left standing. Sulu led Pavel over to the nearest crate and sat him down, kneeling down to the floor next to him. "How's it feeling?"  


"You're kidding me right?" Pavel asked, carefully touching the makeshift bandage covering the wound. "It hurts like the..." His English trailed off, as a string of Russian kicked in. Sulu sighed and patted Pavel on the arm awkwardly before standing up.  


"I'm gonna want that jacket back, by the way." He said, nodding to the jacket lying haphazardly over Pavel’s shoulders.  


"Of course you would."  


"I spoke to one of Nero’s former associates earlier." Sulu rubbed his hands, blowing air onto his fingertips defrost them any way he could, "She was sorry to have missed you."  


"She?" Pavel repeated, leaning back against the wall the crate was stacked against, "Was she cute?" Sulu shrugged.  


"Her gun was cute. You would've liked it." Pavel smiled, closing his eyes. "Hey, don't go to sleep, okay?" Sulu said gently, yet Pavel could hear the concern in his partner’s voice and the slight shake he gave his arm. Pavel opened his eyes, nodding slowly.  


"Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere. You're stuck with me. What did she want, this former associate with the cute gun?”  


“She had an interesting…offer for us.” Sulu answered, blowing on his hands again.  


“From Nero?" Pavel asked, frowning. Nothing from any of Nero's associates, past or present, could be good. Sulu shook his head, looking around them with narrowed eyes.  


“Not exactly. She’s got a different boss now.”  


“And?” Pavel shifted slightly, putting more pressure off his bad leg.  


“She wants us to kill him.” Sulu said with a shake of his head and an air of incredibility.  


“She wants us to kill who?”  


“Nero.”  


"I'm sorry what?" Pavel asked in disbelief, "Why- who'd want _us_ to kill anybody? We don't do that.”  


“Anymore," Sulu muttered, "There’s more to it all,” Sulu said, pulling himself up to a standing position, “I just don’t know what. And I don’t like not knowing what.”  


“What did you say, anyway?” Pavel asked, watching Sulu as he walked over to the door, leaning down to peer thru the cracks.  


“What does anybody say to something like that?” Sulu answered, turning back around to face Pavel.  


“Are we going to do it?” Pavel’s question was left hanging in the air as the two partners looked at each other. Sulu finally shrugged and walked over to Pavel, pulling him up again and swinging Pavel’s arm over his shoulders.  


“I'm not sure we have a choice. But I do know this is beginning to look like one hell of a Christmas.”


	6. getaway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a short chapter to tide you all over while I try to survive exam season... enjoy :)

**London**.  


"For the love of all things holy man, what the _devil are you doing_ with that thing?" Montgomery Scott, dealer extraordinaire and all around awesome guy, looked at the man before him, holding a shaky gun near Scotty’s throat. The man's hand was shaking much to violently for Scotty's taste. One more twitch and one of them was likely to get hurt. And it sure as heck wasn't going to be him!  


"D-doing? I don't really understand the question."  


"You don't really - he doesn't really understand the question." Scotty shakes his head and mutters something best left unsaid under his breath, "Bloody hell, what is the world coming to? Would you put that gun down man, we're not in the Wild West!" The man shifted uneasily, stepping to the side.  


"What? No! No, this is a holdup!"  


"A holdup," Scott repeated, because he found it hard to believe that's what the man _really_ said,, "A holdup?" He nodded then shook his head. "You're kidding me right?" The gun cocked, the other man taking a shaky step forward. Oh well, there's a first time for everything Scotty supposed.  


"I want my money back, you piece of sh-"  


"Okay," Scott held out a hand, chuckling despite himself which just made the other man appear more twitchy. So Scotty held up the other hand, palm facing the man in surrender, "I think I get the picture mate. What makes you think I have your money?"  


"Do you think I'm stupid, Scott?" The man said laughing without humour.

"Well, no. I wouldn’t say you’re an idiot, not without getting to know you first."  


"I didn't say idiot."  


"Oh, you didn't? In that case, yes," he nodded again, "I would say you're stupid."  


"Shut up! Are you gonna give me my money back or what?"  


"Ah..." Scotty narrowed his eyes, shrugging slightly, "No? You mustn't have read the fine print mate. No refunds or exch-" The man lowered his gun, grabbing Scott's neck and pushing him backwards, slamming his head back into the hard concrete wall.  


"That's it, you're dead." Scott grabbed the man's hand with his own, trying in vain to release the stronghold around his neck. The idiot was stronger than he looked. This really was the last time he agreed to meet anyone, _anywhere_ this time of night.  


"Now, let's not be hasty about this. If its money you want, we’ll talk. Let’s talk!" He practically croaked and the man's face began to relax, the first sign of victory appearing in his eyes.  


"Oh it's a little late for begging, don't you think Mister Scott?" He cocked his head, smiling at Scott, raising his gun upwards, his eyes lighting up with pleasure as Scott's turned wide. "I expected more from you. Maybe you're not the best in the business after all." His smile slowly disappeared as his face froze, his eyes turning glassy as he looked down to where Scott's hand held a knife hilt deep into his stomach.  


"You really should have read the fine print mate." Scotty said grimly as he pried the man's hand from his throat, grabbing his side as he groaned, falling forwards with a trail of red beginning to trickle from his mouth. Scott leaned forward, tapping him on the shoulder. "No refunds." He withdrew the knife in one quick motion, pushing the man's lifeless body to the ground, his startled eyes staring into dead space. He leaned over slightly, looking down at the man. He cocked his head to the side, gingerly probing his neck. "I've got to get into a better line of work!"

"You have good reflexes. I'm mildly impressed." Scott paused his probing, eyes traveling upwards. A figure stood in the shadows, watching him like he was some kind of exhibit. Silence filled the musty room as Scott squinted to adjust to the darkness, looking the shadowy figure up and down. He stopped his inspection, his eyes finally settling on the woman’s emotionless face.  


"Should I take that as a compliment then?" He resumed his probing, glancing down at the bloody knife in his hand. He grimaced, dropping the knife to the ground with a dull thud as it hit the dirt packed ground, wiping his hand on his pant leg. He squinted back into the darkness, stepping over the dead body at his feet. "And would you come out of the shadows? What are you, a bat?" He continued wiping his hand as he watched the woman limp slightly out of the shadows, a grimace appearing on her face as she did. She stopped in front of him, looking him up and down, settling her gaze on Scott's still bloody hand.  


"You missed a spot." She looked back up into Scott's eyes. Scott nodded, his mouth open.  


"Ah-huh." He turned slightly, indicating with his head behind him, to where the knife lay in a bloody pool on the ground. "Do I need to pick that up again?"  


"I wouldn't advise it."  


"Who the _Hell_ are you?"  


"You can call me Uhura." The woman said in as emotionless a voice as her expression was.  


"Uhura huh? That a first name or last?”  


"Yes. I understand you're the man to see when one needs..." She paused, looking around her in obvious disdain, “Let’s just say help.” Scott crossed his arms, looking Uhura up and down.  


"That all depends. Are you gonna kill me afterwards?" She rolled her eyes.  


"Not unless I'm provoked. Or in a bad mood."  


"How is your mood now?”  


“Deteriorating by the second."

“Fine, fine!” Scott said, holding his hands out in surrender for the second time that night. He really _had_ to change lifestyles! “Stay calm lady, I’ll help, I’ll help.” He took a step forward, clapping a hand on Uhura’s arm and smiling, “Always love helping you Americans out, my friend.” Uhura looked slowly down at the hand on her arm, raising her eyes back to Scott. "Want me to move that? I can move that. See?" He held up his hand, turning it over and over in the air. "See, now we're partners."  


"I work alone."  


"On what?" Scotty asked with narrowed eyes. Uhura clamped her mouth shut, frowning.  


"I need to get back to America to pay a visit to...a friend."  


“They have planes for that kind of thing.”  


“Not for dead people.”  


Scotty drew his head back and looked her up and down.

“You look lovely. Who killed you?”  


“Nero.”  


"No way on God's green earth."  
Scotty shook his head in disbelief, taking a step away from Uhura. She was obviously a mad woman. He kept shaking his head and turned away.

"You said anything." Uhura reminded him firmly. Scotty glanced back at her and if he didn't know any better he'd swear there was desperation in her eyes. But maybe it was just a trick of the night as a split second later her eyes were back to being emotionless pools of scariness.

"Well, you didn't mention him now did you? Start off with that first, I'm just saying!"  


"I see you didn't read my find print," Uhura said stepped forward until she was face to face with Scott, "I'm not asking."  


"Funny, you just asked-"  


"I don’t have time for your little games-“  


“Oh trust me love,” Scott said with a chuckle, “I don’t play anything except some Uno. And the occasional game of Monopoly.” Uhura rolled her eyes and closed the distance that Scott was already certain was already far too close.  


“You help me or I’ll come back from the dead and beat your ass up, understand me?" Scott squinted, shaking his head. "And I'll pay you triple what you normally receive." Scotty paused, weighing his options. It took him all of three seconds to decide. He nodded once, taking one last look at his new 'client' before turning to walk away.

  
"Have you ever considered a Tic Tac?"

******

**New York City**

“No, just give me one minute more.”  


“Wake up Kirk!” Kirk slowly opened his eyes, groaning as some idiot kept nudging him in the side. _“Kirk!”_ Kirk sat up with a start, grabbing his head from the sudden movement and coming face to face with a still bleeding and profoundly unimpressed McCoy.

“Oh, just kill me now.” He groaned.

“That was the plan.” He pulled his hand away to find McCoy kneeling next to him, looking like death warmed over. The blood had dried on his face, leaving several dark red streaks over his bruised skin and a fresh spot just above his left eye; his arm hang limply at his side. McCoy was frowning – again – and as Kirk pulled himself up slowly, McCoy held out his good hand. Kirk accepted the hand and stood unsteadily on his feet, shaking his head to clear the ringing from his ears.

“Where are we?” He asked groggily and rubbed his aching head. 

“Palmer Street.” McCoy answered, looking a mixture of pained and downright bored. Amazing, the man was an agent even in the face of death. His, at least as Kirk had no intention of dying any time soon. “About a block away from the crash.”

“Why are we still-“

“Cause you fainted, didn’t you hero?” Kirk narrowed his eyes and snickered uneasily.

“I think the correct term is _passed out_.” He said and shook his head, looking up at the night sky, “How long was I-“

“Passed out?” McCoy asked with a smirk. 

“Just how are you still upright?” Kirk demanded. McCoy just rolled his eyes, like that was the stupidest thing he'd heard yet and started scanning the area.

“Less than a minute.” He finally said, still amused. How a man with an arm hanging at that unnatural angle could be amused was beyond Kirk.

“What’s wrong with your arm?” Kirk asked, rubbing his own arm up and down to try and bring some life back to the pins and needles that chased up and down his limbs. McCoy shook his head and glanced at the arm before looking back at Kirk.

“My shoulder is dislocated.” He said simply, “Come on, we’ve got to get out of here. The sirens are getting closer.”

“Wha-“ McCoy grabbed Kirk’s arm and pushed him forwards. “What are you exactly?” He asked, stumbling slightly as he tried to match McCoy’s determined stride. “You’re not human, that I do know. _We almost died!_ You almost crushed me to death!"

“Why aren’t we dead?” McCoy said, still walking away from the wrecked car a few streets behind them and the rapidly approaching sirens. 

“Wonderful thought, never crossed my mind.”

“If they wanted us dead,” McCoy said, either not hearing or ignoring Kirk, “Wouldn’t we be, I don’t know, dead?”

“You’re saying they wanted us alive? Why? Why would they want that?” McCoy didn’t answer straight away, just rolled his eyes in frustration and started leading them down a dark alley off the main road which led to a small garage.

“How should I know? You’re the criminal mastermind here.” McCoy replied. Kirk groaned in frustration, glancing behind him to the approaching sirens with a grimace.

“Don’t you ever get sick of all that cynicism?” He asked. "It's not healthy." McCoy stopped walking and turned towards the garage door, glancing at Kirk.

“Thank you Doctor Phil, I'll keep that in mind." McCoy muttered under his breath and turned his back to Kirk. Kirk threw his hands in the air and watched as McCoy dug around in his pockets, finally fishing out a small black pouch. He held it out to Kirk, nodding with his head when he didn’t take it. “Well, don't just stand there. Take it.” Kirk reached forward reluctantly and took the pouch. “Do you know how to pick a lock?”

“A lock?” Kirk repeated. “Just because I’m a criminal I must know how to pick a lock, right?” McCoy sighed and gripped his arm with his good hand, the pain evident on his face for the first time. Kirk wondered just how hurt McCoy really was under all that agent macho.

“Just take out the long one, we don’t have all day.” Kirk opened the pouch and withdrew a long silver piece of metal, holding it up and turning it over. McCoy nodded and indicated with his head towards the garage door. “Insert it.” Kirk frowned but did as instructed, closing his eyes as he eased himself down till he was level to the small lock on the door, his muscles protesting with every movement. “Take your time.” McCoy muttered and Kirk looked up at him.

“Step two please, _Sunshine_?” McCoy took a step to the side and looked down at the look.

“Insert it into the lock and twist.”

“Twist?” Kirk asked as he inserted the small stick into the lock, twisting it slightly to the left, “This isn’t goi-“ He stopped twisting as a clicking sound filled the air, the garage door popping open slightly from the ground. Kirk looked up at McCoy who let go of his arm and started to pull up the door.

“There ‘ya go, kid.” He said, wincing. Kirk stuffed the pick back into the pouch and helped open the door.

“I thought you guys frowned on breaking and entering.”

“We’re only entering,” McCoy said, walking around to the passenger side of the small black SUV that was housed inside, “Not breaking anything.” Kirk shrugged and walked to the driver’s side.

“You trust me to drive this thing?” He asked, placing a hand on the door of the car.

“Hell no,” McCoy said, looking at him over the hood of the car, “I wouldn’t trust you to tie my shoes kid. But I don’t have much of a choice now do I?" And he indicated to his dislocated arm with annoyance. "Use the small black one.” Kirk looked down at the pouch and opened it again, repeated the process on the car door.

“How does this stuff even work?” he asked, holding up the small black object that looked more like a USB drive than a lock pick. “And why do you even _have this stuff_?”

“Don’t ask,” McCoy said, opening the door, “And I won’t have to kill you. Get in, shut up and drive.”

“Where are we going?” Kirk asked. He stepped into the car, using the car’s electronic button to start the car’s engine. He found it amazing how he trusted this man, the one who’d not only been tracking him for the past month or so but thought that he was the most wanted man in America. Maybe it was his bedside manner.

“Just drive.” McCoy said, holding his arm again, “There’s a safe house we can go to. We’ll work it out then.” Kirk nodded once and drove the car out of the garage and into the street, the two disappearing over the hill just as the sirens came into view.


End file.
